9
I followed his bright blond head into the bathroom and waited two seconds for him to take his place at his chosen urinal before I stood next to him. It was only him and me in there, and once he laid his eyes on me, he suppressed a flinch.
“How’s the drill hole?” I asked James York, who rolled his eyes as he pissed.
“Get to the fucking point,” he snarled. “Or are you here to perve at my cock?”
“Not into cock, bro, prefer pussy,” I told him straight, then glanced down at the phone sticking out of his jeans pocket. “Are the pics on your phone?”
“Huh?” playing dumb while he let his limp cock dribble the last of the piss. “You like looking?”
“You took some pics the other night, while we were in the garden with Adina Boleyn,” I clarified, even though I could tell he knew exactly what I was talking about.
He shrugged as he began to tuck his cock back into his jeans, but I grabbed his cock before he had a chance. “Answer my fucking question.”
“If you enjoy holding my cock, you should start rubbing, bro. I mean…you’re not my type, but while you’re there, you may as well stroke it,” he mocked, then winced as I slowly began to twist his cock in a clockwise motion.
“The pics that you tried to blackmail Maxwell Boleyn with. Where are they?” I pressed as the color drained from his face due to the pain.
He refused to tell me his little secret, probably because of his loyalties to his own family, and as his hand gripped my wrist in an attempt to stop me twisting his cock further, he looked as though he was about to pass out.
“Tell me,” I snarled as I drew a knife from my sleeve that I slipped up there as I followed him. It’s Adina’s knife, a gift from her father, so I knew it would be a nice, lethal blade, and as I held it against his skin, he drew in breath.
“My phone is in my jean pocket,” he said, clenching his jaw.
“Whose idea was it?” I questioned as I grabbed it, then scrolled through his gallery to find several pics and a video.
There were several pics of naked chicks in a changing room, unaware that they were being filmed, and I held the phone up.
“What are you, a fucking perve? You planted a hidden camera in the woman’s changing room?
Aren't you getting enough pussy? Fuck, the campus police need to know about this, man.”
“No,” he grunted.
“No? It’s your fucking shit, man. Your little fetish,” I grilled him. “Now answer my fucking question. Whose idea was it to film us in the gardens?”
He hesitated, and I made a small slit along the side of his cock with the blade, and he let out a high-pitched exhale as if he was terrified that I was going to chop the thing off. It had crossed my mind, but I knew threats of de-cocking would be enough for any man to cave.
“Ours,” he grimaced, because I put him in a difficult position, because if he moved, I’d cut him. If he tried to fight me off, I’d twist his cock, maybe jab his balls with the tip of the knife. There were many options for how to torture him, and it was just a case of which one to choose.
“Your idea?” I didn't believe him, and it seemed he was trying to protect someone.
A spot of blood dropped onto the white floor as I squeezed his cock again, and this time he let out a soulful growl of a man who could see his entire life pass before his eyes.
“Really? You need money? What the fuck was the point?”
“Yes,” he gulped as he started to sway slightly and grew distant behind his eyes.
“Cmon, man, this doesn’t make sense,” I scoffed because I wasn’t buying it. “Why the Boleyn? Out of all wealthy families that send their brats to Castlehill, why him? Why did you choose the last man in the whole fucking world who would play your game?”
He shook his head, “I didn’t know.”
“Right, you didn’t know him,” I conceded, “because if you did know him, you’d be aware he’d never part with his money for anyone, including his daughter. If it were an attempt to shame his family name, he wouldn’t care.”
He gasped and shook his head, unable to speak. “Or maybe you’re trying to smear the Warwicks? Nah,” I was basically having a conversation with myself, “that doesn’t make sense. You haven't tried to blackmail the Warwicks, have ya?”
Then something occurred to me. An obvious link. “What about your aunt, Adina’s stepmother. Has she got something to do with it?”
He flinched as the door flew open and a pint-sized freshman walked in and stalled when he found us standing so close together, with my hand at the front of James’ jeans.
I didn’t care that he assumed I was giving the blond a handjob, but I did want the kid to leave us be because I had more questions to ask.
“Leave,” I snarled at him, and the kid smartly backed away and fled.
“So, it was her idea, then?” I mumbled as I released his cock and acted normal. “Leslie, whatever her surname, Adina’s stepmother. It was her idea to film us up to no good and then try to blackmail Maxwell?”
James York nodded as his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, probably due to a bone-dry mouth from all that stress and tension I was causing him.
“Fine,” I said, releasing him, still dissatisfied with his answers, but if I tugged his cock much longer, his brain would turn to mush. “You can leave, no, wait, I’ll leave as you need to clean up all that blood draining from your pecker.”
James York slumped over, placing his hand on his knees, breathing deeply through the pain as I walked away guilt-free.
My head spun a little as I walked along the hallway toward my next class.
It made no sense to blackmail Maxwell Boleyn, whether it was the Yorks or Leslie, because he wouldn’t cave to their demands.
My feet froze on the linoleum just as I approached the stairs, and I turned back, stepping back inside the bathroom to find James York hovering over the basin, flicking water onto his bloody cock.
“Maxwell Boleyn committed suicide, did you know?” I pressed, and he grunted, “Huh? Nah,” like he didn’t care and had more important things to attend to.
“Right,” I murmured and left the bathroom again.
If he didn’t care that Maxwell committed suicide, then I doubt he had any skin in the game.
You’d think he’d be pleased that the man they were trying to screw over would be dead.
Job done. Problem out of the way, although you can’t blackmail a dead man.
So, the puppet master wasn’t the Yorks, and my hunch was Adina’s stepmother had something to do with it.
But I had no proof. Did Adina even know the connection between her stepmom and the Yorks?
As I left the bathroom and headed toward the stairs, I had a strange loyalty toward Adina, a warming of feelings that Ez warned me about.
It’s not in my nature to become attached to women, yet the more I hung out with her, the more I wanted to hang out with her.
She was getting under my skin, and the thought of never seeing her again was like needles fired into my heart. I had to do something about it.
Yeah, sure, Ez was more concerned about Adina snitching on him over the dead man on the train, but my concern ran deeper, and when I saw Ez with her earlier, I wondered if he was catching feelings as well.
I arrived at class just on time and hissed at a group of girls who stared at me as I walked past. I know I look and behave weird, but I don’t give a shit.
I sat alone as per usual; there was always a space around me where no student dared to invade, and that’s exactly how I liked it because I could stretch my legs out, spread my stuff out on the empty chairs and desks beside me.
But on that occasion, as my brain was in overdrive after questioning the Plath clone, I felt a weird sense of loneliness sitting there while students kept to the other side of the room.
I wasn’t lonely for them; I was lonely for Adina, the girl whom I kissed in the library while the stranded bird fluttered by the window.
The girl I betrayed and fucked over in the gardens was to punish her.
It was cruel, but I enjoyed it and so did she, until we wouldn’t let her finish.
The Robotics lecturer enthusiastically rambled on, which was normally interesting, but I struggled to focus because I was thinking about her. If I don’t sort my shit out, I’ll fail. It was the Warwick family trust that paid for my schooling, and I didn’t want to let them down.
I pulled my attention to the front of the class, pushed her to the back of my mind, and for several moments, I was 100% concentrating on what the lecturer was saying. Then I caught a scent of perfume, and my mind immediately went back to thinking about Adina again.
Fuck, she was becoming my weakness, my addiction, and it wore like an ill-fitted glove.